It’s hard for me to love other people. It’s even harder for me to love myself.
I was driving home from work Monday evening and I had just angrily hung up the phone. A woman had called me from a company that did some work at my house a few years ago. I didn’t like the way the company was handling its business with me, but it was nothing personal with the woman.
The thing that annoyed me wasn’t her fault. She was just reading a script. She was doing her job. But I was in a bad mood — and I took out my frustrations on her.
I wasn’t nasty or rude, but I certainly wasn’t kind or loving.
As I drove the rest of the way down I-459 toward home, I stewed in my irritation, but my annoyance quickly turned toward myself. I wasn’t upset with that woman or her company.
I lectured myself about being a hypocrite. I berated myself about my unwillingness to live up to my values when it wasn’t convenient — when I wasn’t in the right mood.

Warning, Good Samaritans: Offering teens a ride is ‘disturbing the peace’
Is it persistence or stubbornness to keep chasing uncertain outcomes?
Don’t believe the words they say: Politicians revert to their incentives
Ohio high school shooting shouldn’t be excuse to take more guns away
Death of stranger’s dog reminds me how much dogs mean to us
I keep trying to find the light, but my choices leave me in darkness
Do political labels make things clear or just confuse everyone?
Joe Rogan isn’t insightful to me, so I just don’t listen to his show